I'll Protect You
by AnnabelleLee87
Summary: This takes place right after Sam leaves for Indiana to find himself. This is a scene I added in after Sam and Dean get away from Gordon. Sam's upset because Dean didn't tell him what their dad said, and Dean's upset because Sam put himself in danger. *Warning* This story contains corporal punishment of an adult by an older adult.


I want to thank everyone for all the reviews on my stories! I LOVE them. I also want you to know that I'm in the progress of getting the next chapter finished for Duality (I've been super busy)! But it will be up soon, I promise :) Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this little idea I had running through my head.

* * *

"We need to talk about this, Sam."

The words slipped out softly, floating between them like a feather caught by a breeze. His tone was more comforting than demanding, which wasn't what he'd originally intended but it might have been better, at least for Sam. And anyway, Dean's earlier anger had finally settled from a bitter hot rage into a smoldering ash of bile at the pit of his stomach. The phone calls, the hours spent wracking his brain for answers, and the long drive to Indiana had all taken a toll on him, and now that he knew Sam was safe, thick, cold fear permeated the surface of his skin and he shivered inwardly at thoughts of what _could have _been.

Sam didn't respond immediately. He sat there, forehead resting against the window, white puffs of condensation forming on the glass from his slow breaths. A fresh burst of fury began to ignite the ashes in Dean's stomach, sparking the dying flame and spreading it through his body and deep into his bones. He struggled to reconcile the icy fear and red hot rage that were assaulting his entire being.

"Dean, we did talk about it."

"Ah, I must've missed it, then."

Sam shrugged.

"Sam you're gonna talk to me or I'm gonna kick your scrawny ass from here to next week."

"Really, man? Stop being a dick. I know you mean well, but you should've let me take care of it myself. I told you, this was about me, not you."

"Sam, it's my job to watch out for you."

"No, Dean, it's not. Maybe it used to be, but not anymore. I'm an adult. It's none of your fucking business what I do."

In that moment the anger won out, melting any apprehension he had left away, at least for the time being. He glared at Sam. Sam was still looking out the window, but his muscles were tense. Dean steeled his expression, biting his tongue to keep from yelling at his brother right then and there. No, he wasn't going to yell. Yelling was something Sam was good at taking, hell, maybe even enjoyed because it meant loss of control by Dean. He wasn't going to take the bait.

"Last chance, Sam. You can talk to me now or you can deal with the consequences. And just an FYI, after that happens, you'll _still _have to talk to me about it.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Sam turned his eyes to look at Dean. Dean met them with a no-nonsense stare that he'd used on his little brother before, the one he reserved for only the most serious offenses so it carried more weight. He watched as recognition flashed on Sam's face. It was immediately replaced by a scowl, and Sam leaned back into the seat and crossed his arms, breaking eye contact and looking back out the window.

It reminded Dean of when Sam was still in high school, back when he was more rebellious than Dean had ever been, in his own way. He'd been hard for their dad to handle, and since their dad was gone more than he was home, the responsibility had fallen to Dean. It was fine though. At that point Dean had long become accustomed to his role—but he still detested it when it meant punishing Sam.

"You have ten more miles, Sam. When I get off that exit it's too late." He stole another look at Sam, who hadn't budged. "I mean it."

Sam's body stiffened but he didn't say anything. _So stubborn_, Dean thought. In many ways Sam was more bull-headed than their dad, constantly questioning and determined to assert his independence to anyone and everyone. It was those traits that made Sam who he was, shaped Dean's behavior toward him, and drove a wedge right through their relationship. It never lasted long, though—at least not when they were younger.

"God damn it, Sam. I'm pulling off right now. Last chance."

The green light from the hotel vacancy flickered. The night was quiet, the only sound coming from the buzzing neon. Sam stayed in the Impala while Dean reserved a room. Dean got out first and went to unlock the door, and Sam sat there until he slid the key in the deadbolt. After that he jumped out of the car, slamming the door shut and pushing past Dean with his shoulder, making a beeline for the bathroom.

Dean listened for the shower to come on. Instead he heard a click, as Sam locked the door behind him. There was shuffling, the crisp sound of paper ripping, and Dean knew Sam was washing his face with the cheap motel soap. He was also purposely avoiding Dean, but it wouldn't last much longer. He knew Sam would come out in a minute, defiant and probably angry.

Sam emerged a little later, his bangs wet from the hotel tap water. He cast one sidelong glance Dean's way, almost daring him to say anything, and walked right past him, sitting on the couch and kicking off his shoes. Suddenly a woman's laughter filled the room as Sam switched on the T.V. It was some stupid infomercial that Sam didn't give crap about, but he was watching it intently, as if it was the most interesting thing he'd seen all day. Dean rolled his eyes at the back of Sam's head, sighing, Sam's message ringing loud and clear; he wasn't going to cooperate willingly.

"Move, Dean."

Dean reached over and tugged the cord out of the wall, sucking the laughter from the room and replacing it with a cold silence. Sam's shoulders slumped, tired and clearly irritated at Dean. He stood up then, walking over to Dean, arms crossed and body stretched to its full height. Dean was unimpressed.

"You know what's coming."

Sam visibly flinched. "What? You gonna try and punish me? I'm a full grown man, Dean. You can't treat me like a little kid anymore."

"You may have the body of an adult but you acted like a selfish child. What you did was irresponsible and dangerous, and almost ended up with you blown to pieces." His voice was even, but inside his stomach was churning from the memory.

"I knew what I was doing, obviously, because here I am—in one piece."

"Yeah, obviously. You knew what you were doin so much that if I hadn't happened to be on the roof, Gordon would've sniped your ass."

Sam wrinkled his eyebrows. "What?"

"That's right, smartass. You think Gordon missed by accident? Try again. That's how I ended up tied up in the first place. He got me after I saved you."

"Oh."

Sam got quiet. Dean knew he was considering what he'd said. "Look, you had your chance to talk, remember? I told you once we got here you would deal with the consequences first. It's been a while but you know the routine."

Dean reached out and grabbed a hold of Sam's wrist. Sam resisted, recoiling his hand as if Dean had been a snake about to bite him. Sam took a step back and got into a defensive position. He glared at Dean, his hazel eyes conflicted, but it was clear he wasn't going to give in.

He'd spanked Sam only a handful of times growing up, and only when he really needed it. It had been a cycle; Sam not complying the first few times, Sam resigned to it, and then when Sam got older he fought it again. The last time Dean had done it was when Sam was twenty, a few weeks before he left for college. Dad had told Sam to forget about Stanford, so Sam tried extra hard to fuck up a hunt—whether it had been to get back at Dad or so that Dad would tell him he didn't want Sam along anymore, Dean didn't know. The situation ended with Dad sending them home, saying he'd deal with it later. But Dean had dealt with it immediately.

"Samuel Winchester, we can do this easy, we can do this hard. I'm gonna give you about three seconds to decide and you know what happens after that." He slid his belt off, folding it in half and allowing it to dangle at his hip. Sam cringed.

"Fuck. You. It's not gonna happen."

Dean shook his head, seriously hoping Sam would just give in and walk over. "One—"

"I can't believe this."

"Two—"

"Don't touch me, Dean. I'm so not dealing with your attitude."

"Three."

Sam turned around and started to walk away, pointedly ignoring Dean—which was a mistake, and Sam should've known that. He knew it was all pride; Sam trying to prove to Dean that he was so not worried about it that he'd turn his back on him. It didn't matter, just made what Dean needed to do a little bit easier.

Dean kicked the back of Sam's knee. He didn't use much force, just enough to buckle Sam's legs and send him spiraling forward. He knew he had to be quick; Sam was fast and Sam was angry, but he was also out of practice compared to Dean. He'd taken a two year sabbatical, and though he was getting back into the swing of things he was nowhere near as prepared as Dean.

Before Sam and a chance to react, Dean put his weight into it and thrust Sam's body forward, planting his younger brother's face into the dirty couch cushion. He used the opportunity to gain leverage, grabbing Sam's arms and securing them behind his back. It wasn't an ideal position, but it would have to do for now, until Sam accepted what was happening, and then he would move them around.

"Let me go you stupid asshole!"

"I'm sorry we had to do it this way, Sam. You should have just cooperated."

He sincerely meant it, but Sam wouldn't care right now. This was just part of the process, and Dean knew from how it'd started that it was going to end up being a lengthy one. Normally he would lecture Sam first, then spank, then lecture—wash, rinse, repeat. He was going to have to reverse it a bit in this case, because the there was a steady stream of words running out of Sam's mouth right now, and there was no way he was going to get through to him like this.

It was immediate. Sam was screaming at Dean to leave him alone, but when Dean brought his hand down for the first swat he brought it down hard, intent on getting Sam's attention. He heard Sam gasp, probably more from surprise than anything else since he still had his jeans on—_also gotta fix that_, Dean thought to himself.

Sam started to say something again, but before he got it out Dean started a steady rhythm, hoping to squelch Sam's temper enough to get him into a better position. Sam on his knees, bent over the couch wasn't ideal because it couldn't be comfortable for Sam—he wanted Sam to be sore for the spanking, not from the floor. And, as it was right now he all but had to sit on his back just to keep him from running away.

"You fucking dickhead I swear I'm gonna kill you oh my God Dean you're such a fucking jerk."

And whenever Sam had a chance to take a breath the words kept coming—they were broken, from the sheer movement and force of what Dean was doing, but damn it if he wasn't still getting them out. "You know, Sammy, this is still just the warm up. I suggest you stop talking if you want to get down to the main event and get this over with."

"FUCK YOU," was his response, but it was also the last thing he said. The only sounds coming from Sam now were small grunts of dissatisfaction. They both had a pretty high pain tolerance at this point—combine that with Sam's stubbornness and this was going to be a long night.

Dean didn't move, but he paused for a minute. "Are you ready to cooperate?" He gave Sam a second to answer. When no response came he started again, just as hard as he'd stopped.

"Yes..."

Dean stopped again, hearing Sam but not willing to accept the delayed answer. "Are you ready to cooperate, Sam?"

"Yes, sir."Dean tensed, choking back a groan. He _hated_ Sammy calling him sir.

"Okay then. I'm gonna sit on the bed. You know where I want you."

Sam nodded, but didn't turn around to look at Dean, and he didn't say anything. He wasn't crying yet, and he damn sure wasn't accepting this punishment the way he needed to, but they would get there. Dean knew that deep down Sam understood this, which was why he was agreeing to cooperate now instead of slugging Dean in the face. Sam hated being punished, always had—but once it was over, Sam _always _felt better.

Sam stood up and they made their way over to the bed. Dean sat down, his hand clamped tightly around Sam's wrist. This time Sam didn't pull away, just prepared his self to lay over Dean's lap, resigned to his fate. "Sam." It was all Dean needed to say. Sam understood, his fingers moving toward the buttons on his jeans, sliding them down to his ankles and stepping out of them. Sam never wanted to wear denim after it was over.

"Dean, please..." he tried one more time. His voice was somber, not quite pleading, tinged with a hint of annoyance that Sam wasn't willing to let go of yet.

When Dean didn't answer, Sam bit his lip, still avoiding Dean's face, and laid down slowly across his lap. Dean tugged his boxers down and Sam didn't resist, but Dean felt his brother's body tense up. _I know, I hate it too, Sammy. But you've gotta learn, man. You could've died..._

"I'm going to go over why you're being punished, because I honestly don't know if you understand."

"I'm not stupid, Dean."

Dean swatted him twice, hard. "Sam."

"Sorry, sir."

"First of all, you bailed without telling me. I had no idea where you were or if you were okay. Second, you talked to Ellen about this situation and not to _me_. I'm your _brother_, Sam. I've always been there for you. And because of that you went into something half-assed and almost got yourself killed."

Sam didn't respond.

"Do you understand?"

"Sure, Dean."

"Okay, I see how this is going to go. We'll revisit the question once you've had a chance to think about it."

Normally this would piss Dean off, Sam's attitude the way it was, but not this time. No, this time Sam was scared—scared of who he was, scared of what their dad had told Dean before he died, scared of what he might become. Dean understood that. That was acceptable. What wasn't acceptable, however, was the way he'd handled it.

Sam scratched the fabric on the bed, clenching it between his fingers when Dean brought his hand down again. Warm up was officially over. He alternated, covering Sam completely, not wanting him to become numb and not wanting to cause bruising, but wanting him to really _feel_ it, to remember it the next time Sam thought doing something reckless was a good idea.

"Do you understand why you're being punished?"

"Yes, sir."

_Thank God._ "Good. These are for lying to me, for not talking to me about something incredibly important and asking someone we barely know to cover your tracks."

"But it's not fair!" he blurted out suddenly.

Dean paused. "What do you mean?"

"You should've told me what Dad said, Dean."

He sighed. "Sam, I didn't know what to do, okay? I was trying to protect you—hell, I was trying to figure out what he even meant by it at the time."

"I had a right to know! And you lied to me, Dean. And now you're punishing me for lying to you."

"That's only part of the reason you're being punished, Sam—and you know it."

"Yes sir."

"And yeah, maybe you're right. I probably should've told you. But damn it, Sam, try to see it from my point of view. You're my baby brother—I've spent my entire life taking care of you—and following Dad's orders. And when he told me that I might have to _kill_ you, Sam, I fucking _lost_ it. Try and think if it was the other way around."

Sam didn't say anything, but Dean saw him nod his head. "I'm gonna keep going now, Sam. Do you understand why you're getting these?"

"Yes sir."

He started in again, feeling the fire creep into his hand—he'd forgotten the familiar sting. Sam fidgeted just a little, his body's instinct to escape the pain beginning to take over. _Good, we're getting somewhere. _This was the part where Sam truly began to accept what was happening, when he had to admit he was across Dean's lap, when he had to stop being so stoic and give into the pain. Dean hated it and wondered if it was as much as Sam did.

"Please, Dean...shit. This fucking _hurts_."

_Ouch._ Dean tensed up—the idea of him hurting his little brother was almost too much, and if Sam would've been able to make eye contact right now Dean knew he wouldn't've been able to keep going. Sam knew what to say to him to make him feel guilty, but he tried to ignore it, spanking Sam a few more times before pausing.

"These are for not willingly accepting your punishment."

Sam groaned, soft and low into his arm. Dean started immediately, not wanting to drag this out any longer than he had to. The standard for resisting had always been five with the belt from their dad, but Dean was never able to do that, had always felt guilty using a belt on Sam, so he always just increased the force behind his swats. He gave him fifteen more, hard, and by the time it was over his hand was stinging and burning—he could only imagine how Sam felt.

"This is the big one, Sammy. You put yourself in danger. You ditched me instead of trusting me to be there for you, and you almost got yourself killed."

Sam's breathing was jagged, coming out in staggered puffs on the couch. Dean could hear him sniffling, so close to tears that it made Dean's own eyes damp. "But Dean...I...yes sir."

"You get twenty with the belt for that."

"_Twenty?"_

"I'm sorry, Sammy, but I need to get through to you and I need to do it fast. A stunt like this could've wound up with both of us dead. We're in it together now, man."

"Dean, look...I promise...I mean, I'm so sorry I know I should've listened to you but I was so fucking _scared _outta my mind and I didn't know what else to do and I should've—"

"Sam," Dean rubbed a small circle on his back, trying to calm him down. "This is going to happen. I need to know you've learned your lesson from this and you need to understand that there's still going to be consequences for your actions. Just be glad they're from me and not from fucking Gordon shooting you in the face."

Sam's breath hitched in his throat, like he was going to say something but it got lodged there on the way out. He whimpered, and Dean felt guilty all over again because he knew, just _knew_ how terrified Sammy had always been of the belt. Dean _never _used it on him, had ever only once used it once, anyway, because it was their dad's weapon of choice, not his. But Dean didn't see any way around it this time because this was Sam, and Sam was stubborn until the very end, so Dean was going to do his best right now to prevent another situation like this from occurring. Nip it in the bud.

"Fuck!"

The air whistled just before the _crack_. Sam's reaction was immediate, always was, and Dean's stomach rolled as soon as he said it. It was terrible. Just seeing Sam's body, writhing in pain, pain that _he_ was creating—it was almost too much for him to handle. Dean had dedicated his entire life to protecting Sam, taking care of him, ensuring that no harm came to him. Without a doubt, this was the worst part of being the older brother.

By the time he got to ten Sam was sobbing, raw, guttural sounds tearing at his throat and it that made Dean sick. He couldn't stop it and he felt it before he knew it—warm, wet drops were rolling down Dean's face. Part of it was from the pain he was inflicting on Sam and part of it was from the images of that damn roof, seeing Sam being stared at through a scope, completely unaware someone was even after him. Dean couldn't deal with any of it—the thought of life without Sam was completely unbearable.

When he got to twenty he flung the belt across the room. It hit the wall with a _clink_ and deflected to the floor. Dean slid his boxers up quickly but Sam didn't move, just laid there, his entire body shaking across Dean's lap. He brought his hand down gently, rubbing Sam's back again, letting him stay there until he was ready to move. His own tears were still flowing and he wiped them off with the back of his other hand, but the just replaced themselves automatically.

Dean didn't know how long they stayed that way. He didn't care, not really, was just glad the worst was over for both of them. Sam's sobs began to wane slowly. His short, jagged breaths started to smooth, his breathing becoming slightly more even and controlled. The bed dipped slightly as he pushed himself up, climbing off of Dean's lap and standing in front of him.

If Dean hadn't already been crying, one look at Sam's face would've broken the floodgate. Sam didn't hold eye contact, merely looked and looked away just as quickly. He ambled slowly to his bed and laid down on his stomach. After a minute Dean followed him over, sitting beside Sam on the bed. Sam didn't show any sign that he knew or cared Dean was there.

"Sammy, I'm sorry. I know you were scared—I understand that. I just—you can't do that, okay? I mean, we gotta look out for each other."

"What if Dad's right? What if you have to kill me, Dean?"

"What?"

"He wouldn't've said it if it wasn't a possibility—you know Dad."

"God Sam, come on." He lifted Sam's head up and put it on his lap, stroking his hair. "I don't care what he said. There's no way in hell I'd ever kill you. I couldn't. Never."

"But what if—"

"Sam, enough. I don't wanna hear it. You're not gonna go darkside—I won't let that happen either. And I don't care what you say—it's in the big brother handbook that it's my job to protect you until I croak, dude."

Sam snorted. "I've yet to see this infamous book you always talk about."

"It's sacred. Only big brothers are allowed to look at it."

"You're such a loser, Dean."

"I'm awesome."

"There are a lot of words I'd call you right now, but awesome isn't at the top of my list."

Dean winced a little and he was happy Sam wasn't looking at him. "Come on, Sammy I—"

"It's okay, Dean. I know I deserved it." Sam paused for a second, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the sheets. "I didn't mean to freak you out. I won't bail like that without telling you where I'm going again."

"Good because my heart can't withstand another one."

Sam grinned, Dean felt it on his leg. "I forgot you were such a mother hen."

"Shut up, dude." He kept stroking Sam's hair, thinking about what his little brother had said. "And Sam, I'm sorry too."

"Why?"

"That I didn't tell you. I still stand behind my reasoning, but I understand why it upset you. If everything had ended the way it had—with Dad—I think I would've."

"I'm not mad at you anymore, Dean. I know why you did it."

"Just next time—let's talk about it, okay? Don't just get pissed and high-tail it out of here?"

"I won't."

"Fantastic—I'd hate to have to bust your ass again. My hand really hurts you know."

Sam shot him the dirtiest look he could manage, but Dean made she he gave his little brother a cocky grin so he'd know that Dean wasn't truly serious about his complaint. "I hate you."

"I know you do."

"Seriously though, Dean—thanks."

"You got it, Sammy. I'm never gonna let anything happen to you."


End file.
